


Heaven Is a City We've Been Priced Out Of

by Leopardtail



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Assassination, Bucky is smitten with this kid, Canon-Typical Violence, Extremely underweight character, Hitman Bucky Barnes, Homeless Peter Parker, It's not terribly intensive but it's there, M/M, Mafia Bucky Barnes, Murder, Peter has a mobility/walking disability, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Poverty, Protective Bucky Barnes, Russian Mafia, peter is very small due to poverty, there is no eating disorder, there is one line where drugs/cigs are mentioned but neither character does them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23806645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leopardtail/pseuds/Leopardtail
Summary: Another death is nothing, but the life he finds in the wake of it means everything.---After taking out a target, Bucky just plans on getting home and going from there. Running into heaven in the form of the skinny little slip of Peter Parker was not part of the plan. Doesn't matter now though, Bucky isn't leaving without the mysterious angel in the slums.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker
Comments: 55
Kudos: 251





	1. Divinity in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual I blame ru17 for getting me to write this. I just can't say no when she wants one of my ideas brought to life. It was also only supposed to be one chapter, oops.

The ones like this. The slow ones. They were one of the few times he truly felt something other than indifference. One of the few times he felt pity. As the grimy little thing seized in his hands some part of him, the once human part, hoped that this was a release. A sad, painful life this thing had lived, it was written in it’s skin. The dirt, the leathery hide, the wrinkles, all signs of a poorly lived life. A series of mistakes that lead it to Bucky’s hands to die, drowned in less than a foot of water as he held its face submerged in a bucket by the neck. Sinking it would have been too obvious, holding it in the river itself too loud. So he sat here, stiff as steel, unflinching as he felt the body desperately suck in water looking for air. Pained gurgling that had made lesser men empty their stomachs. Thought he could hear the lungs sloshing. 

It gave one final kick and slumped. Bucky held it there a few moments longer, making sure the deed was well and truly done. He let go and the bucket slipped, the homeless man slumped to the ground, now drenched in water. Bucky’s arms covered in scratches which had bled under the dead man’s fingernails. He dragged the body towards the river. The yawning void of night swallowing the scene, a bad part of town where predators lesser than him lurked. No one would see the man who had to die. The man who had stumbled in on a Family dealing, a deal meant to be so secret not even Bucky knew the details. Why they had sent their top enforcer made sense in that light, even if the man was an easy kill, failure was too dangerous to risk. 

Bucky silently slid the man into the water. Waded in, washed under the man’s nails to remove evidence of his existence. Scooped mud from the bed of the river to redirty them. He went out till he was chest-deep, rolled the body in the water to ensure nothing was dry. Let the body settle face down before pushing it out into the current, watched as the mass of tattered cloth was whisked away in the turbulent, black water. 

He got out, stripped his wet clothes off and threw them, wrapped in a plastic bag, into the ratty backpack he had brought. Put on beat-up jeans and an old T-shirt, a well-worn coat and barely held together shoes. Picked up the various ‘valuable’ trash he had originally put in the bucket before setting off. The last article of clothing dawned, an old blue baseball cap. 

The quickest way back was through the tent city he had originally come through. He retraced his steps, the man in the river already forgotten, just another body that marked him a killer. It seemed as though those within the homeless encampment knew that as well, the dirt paths between the cluttered tents strangely empty. Prey could always sense the proximity of a predator it seemed. 

He was studying a strange sculpture in front of one of the tents when he walked into something. The clattering of cans and the short point of contact led him to believe it had been a garbage can until he heard a high “I’m sorry!”

He was going to ignore it, keep walking and leave the rat to scuttle amongst its filth when he caught a flash of the boy in front of him. The kid could barely have been older than eighteen. Big doe eyes and wild oaken curls, milk-white skin hidden underneath dirt and poverty. For the second time that night he felt. This time it wasn’t pity, there was certainly sadness but this feeling… it warmed him. His very bones sang with the image of divine beauty before him. The dim street lights in the distance seemed to build a hazy halo and for a second Bucky wondered if he had truly found an angel. It seemed as though God had a cruel sense of humor to place such beauty before him after he had smothered a helpless soul only twenty minutes before. He wanted to reach out, feel divinity on a carnal level. He wanted to-

“I’m so sorry sir!” The sweet bell of the angel’s voice brought him back to reality. To the fact that the angel was kneeling in the dirt at his feet, scrambling for cans that had been dropped and scattered. No place for a being of heaven. 

He crouched down and helped pick up the trash, placing it in a plastic grocery bag where the others that had been retrieved sat. “It’s alright, shoulda been lookin’ where I was goin.”

They picked up the rest of the cans in strangely comfortable silence, though Bucky wished to hear his voice once again. 

“Ah, thank you for helping me. Most people would have either taken them or kept walking. I really appreciate it.” The kid looked up at him. Those honey brown eyes melting his heart, their gaze saying so much more than his words could. 

“Of course, seems rude to walk away when you were in need’a help.” As though he hadn’t been planning on just that. 

“Still, thank you. I don’t think I’ve seen you around? Are you new here?” Those sweet eyes blinked at him, curious as they melted through every wall he’d ever put up. 

“Yeah, just came to this part of the city, didn’t know it existed before.” Not a complete lie, though Bucky had never been one to care about the morality of such a thing. Yet, lying to this man more than needed made him feel off kilter, like there was something wrong about it here and now. 

“Oh, yeah, most people don’t know about it. They don’t want to think about us, sadly it’s easier to forget than try to fix it.” The kid stood up. Bucky mirrored him, never taking his eyes off him. “I’m Peter by the way.” A frail, bone-thin hand reached out towards him. 

Bucky saw that hand and it was like he’d been slapped across the face with it. Suddenly the sallow body before him came into focus, the beauty still fiercely present but a sickness hid behind it. Something in him broke at the sight, a protective instinct he didn’t know had been living buried under his skin ripped through him. He took that hand ever so gently, wanted to cradle it between both of his own but refrained. His closed fist swallowed that tiny hand. He could feel every knob, every knuckle, bone, and tendon shifting under that paper-thin skin. He didn’t dare squeeze, terrified he would shatter it. “Bucky, pleasure to meet you.”

Peter blushed and it stoked a fire inside of Bucky, the flare of pink bringing life back into that now too pale looking skin. Bucky had to resist every instinct to consume the angelic little thing as Peter politely pulled his hand away. 

“Well Bucky, I know it’s a bit late but would you like to come by my tent? I don’t have much but I’d like to treat you to a snack if you’d be willing.” The kid wouldn’t make eye contact, glanced away. Bucky wanted to hear him say his name again, wanted to hear it whispered in his ear between gasped breaths and screamed as he slotted himself inside Peter’s body. 

“Course, doll. Lead the way.” He gestured absently with his hand towards the dirt path. 

Peter strode ahead, so trusting as he left Bucky at his back. It made the hunger grow. In his world, trust was everything, to have it so easily given made him want to know more. Made him want to keep Peter and all his innocent trust to himself. 

The journey took longer than he expected. Peter’s tent seemed to be on the very edge of the encampment, a fact that set off alarm bells in Bucky’s head. The farther his tent was from the center the more likely he was to be attacked and harmed. Such a frail thing would be easily overpowered and wounded. It triggered a rolling swell in his gut, a muted anger that these people would leave someone so vulnerable on the outskirts in a place set up to provide safety in numbers. That anger only bloomed into a simmering rage when he realized Peter had a limp. He’d seen enough of them to know it, even as Peter clearly tried to hide it. It wasn’t an old knee injury-induced one, Bucky had seen enough busted knee caps to know it. No, this limp was from a hip injury, how it occurred was beyond him but that fact was as clear as day. 

Peter brought him to a dark green tent that had seen far better days. It had been patched with duct tape, plastic bags, and even small strips of cloth. It was filled with numerous holes too small to bother patching up, that said, there were spots where the fabric puckered from being sewn together. This tent was old, older than Peter. Pointed to the fact that even amongst the homeless this boy was at the bottom rungs of poor, barely sitting above those without tents. Peter stopped in front of the zipped up entrance and faced Bucky. 

“There isn’t much but it’s mine. It’s meant for four people but it might still be a little tight. You’re a lot… broader than I am so I don’t know, hopefully it’s not too small.” Peter gave a nervous smile, like he was trying to make Bucky comfortable with all this. 

He wasn’t, but not in the way he knew the boy was worried about. “I’m sure it’s lovely doll, don’t be nervous for my sake. I can promise I’ve seen worse things.” Far worse. Terrible, terrible things. 

That blush popped back up again, warmed Bucky up once again only to be doused by a bucket of ice water. Peter opened the tent, inside was almost harder to see than the outside. A pile of bags filled with cans sat in one corner, waiting to be recycled for change. A small pile of food, barely worthy of being called a pile as it consisted of a few cans and a plastic tray of cookies, all carefully taken care of and clean despite the dirt that seemed to cling to his skin. Ratty blankets took up a third of the floor space, all threadbare and providing a poor illusion of being better than sleeping on dirt. Each detail chipped away as his cold heart, somehow thawed out by this angel disguised as a wretch. It should have been frightening, to become so attached so quickly, to want to protect this being with every fiber of his own. It was foreign, completely alien to Bucky but in a way, it grounded him. Just the short time he’d already been around Peter made things feel sharper and brought him into the present. Like he had been dissociating, barely within himself all this time and Peter was a light sent to return him home. Bucky had never been a religious man but in this moment he felt as if Peter may be something beyond human, a gift sent specifically to pull at Bucky and make him  _ feel. _

Peter took off his shoes, beat to hell red converse that were held together by hope and tape. It was such a domestic and ingrained activity, yet strange to see in this context. Slapped Bucky across the face as once again he was forced to acknowledge that this hovel was Peter’s  _ home  _ and had been for god knows how long. Bucky set the bucket he’d been carrying outside and slipped his own shoes off, seeing how clean the floor of the tent was earnestly kept. 

“You can bring your shoes in, just stick them by the entrance. Some people will take anything not nailed down.” Peter said it jokingly but it only made Bucky wonder if the sparse belongings were because of someone following exactly that code. 

“I have cookies, they’re fudge stripes! I got them a few days ago, this nice old lady offered to buy me a snack. I… probably should have asked for something a little more substantial but I couldn’t resist. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sweets.” There was a distinctly sad note to Peter’s voice. Bucky hated it, never wanted to hear it again. Too permeated by sadness already. 

“Doesn’t hurt to enjoy the little things.” Not that he got to enjoy much of anything.

“Well, I’m glad I have them at least. It’s a bit harder to share stuff from a can. My spoon broke so I just kind of drink out of them. I don’t think you’d appreciate swapping germs with a random stranger all that much.” Peter smiled as he opened the tray of cookies, slid out the plastic holder, and held it out to Bucky.

Bucky tried not to think about how he wanted to do a lot more than just  _ swap germs  _ with Peter. But, he was a man of control, and even though this slip of a thing was working his way under Bucky’s skin in the most pleasant of ways, it didn’t suddenly void his training. He took two cookies after Peter encouraged him to take more than one. 

“So, Peter… How long have you lived out here?” Took a bite of the cookie, hated the taste of over-processed flour and cheap chocolate but was willing to put up with it when Peter beamed. He seemed to take pride in being able to give despite having so little. 

“Oh, here specifically it’s been about six months but I’ve been homeless for about a year total.” Peter was shoving a cookie in his mouth as he rustled around in the blankets, looking for something. Bucky zeroed in, watching as even with this helpless one he could not break the need to be on guard. 

“And how’d you end up homeless, kid?”

Peter stopped and looked at him. “I know that there are a lot of stereotypes out there but it wasn’t drugs if that’s what you’re thinking,” he resumed looking, found his prize in the form of a small box of cigarettes. Bucky couldn’t help but note the irony. “I lost my aunt and uncle in an accident. I lived with them for most of my life after my parents passed. They didn't have life insurance so I was on my own. Had to sell everything to pay off their debts and then my hips were crushed in a car accident three months later. I lost my job and all the insurance payouts went to medical bills because I didn’t have health insurance. Seems like insurance is the root of all evil in my stories,” He laughed and offered Bucky the box of paper wrapped nicotine. He explained when Bucky shot him a look. “I don’t smoke but they’re good for trading. You said you were new to this whole thing so I thought it might help you out some to have these.”

Fuck,  _ fuck,  _ this god damn kid. He couldn’t leave him here. Couldn’t let such a sweet soul rot out here in slums of the city. Bucky’s world may be dark but at least it isn’t  _ this.  _ At least there is food and a bed. At least every moment wasn’t trying to survive solely on chance and the kindness of others, however rare it may be.  _ Could be yours. You could keep him safe, an angel all your own. He doesn’t have to say yes…  _ A voice whispered in the back of his mind, dark not like his own but… persuasive. 

“Peter, you don’t have to give me those… I’m not homeless, I was just passin’ through. Was headin’ to my car just on the other side of all this.” 

Peter wilted, set the pack of smokes off to the side. “Oh, I’m sorry for assuming. People just don’t usually come through here unless they are.” 

Bucky gently caught Peter’s hands, startling them both. “Peter, let me take you home. Let me treat you right. You shouldn’t be out here, let me take care of you.” Knew he sounded crazy, could see it in Peter’s eyes.

“Bucky… that’s really kind of you but…”  _ I don’t know you; know if you’re safe to go with.  _ Peter didn’t say it but Bucky could hear it. 

The same voice whispered to him, telling him to just go the easy route, pick up the kid and leave. No one would notice but… Seeing him wilt like that just from Bucky rejecting the cigarettes told him all he needed to know. The beauty on the outside was alluring but the peaking light of his personality was something he wanted,  _ needed.  _ He wouldn’t risk destroying that, not now. 

Bucky reached into his back pocket and flicked open a pocket knife, held it out by the blade to Peter, didn’t miss him flinch. “I know I’m askin’ a lot here, doll. Can’t have trust without earnin’ it. If you don’t feel safe then you can take a stab at me.” Covering the blade he set his fist lightly just below his ribs. “Just take a shot here, blade isn’t long enough to kill me but it’ll still hurt like a bitch.” He held it out again, this time a little closer to Peter. Let the knife rest on his open palm this time. 

Peter picked it up very carefully. The knife was carbon black all over and the blade about as long as his pointer finger. Bucky used it for a variety of things. It wasn’t a great weapon but it was reasonable for someone on the street to casually have. Even if Peter tried to stab him, he didn’t have the training to do much damage, and Bucky could easily stop him before it plunged through his skin. No, this was about proving something. Showed that Bucky was willing to give this stranger a weapon to defend himself to prove he meant no harm, risking his own hide if Peter ended up being the “dangerous” one here. 

Peter looked up at him out of those doe eyes, so large in his hunger ridden face. “Okay, I’ll go with you, but only for tonight.”

Bucky wanted to laugh, Peter wasn’t leaving tomorrow. He’d go the peaceful route first, certainly, but Peter had sealed his fate by taking the knife.

Bucky shuffled out of the tent. “Let’s go. It’s gettin’ late and we’re gonna have to run through somewhere and pick up food. I’ll have groceries delivered tomorrow, you can tell me what you like and I’ll make sure it’s in the pantry.” He could feel Peter’s need to protest, wanted to grin when it didn’t come. The temptation already enough to stifle complaint. 

He slipped on his shoes, picked up the bucket, and held out his hand to Peter. The young man gave it a suspicious glance before gently taking it. Bucky did let himself smile this time, happy to have this tiniest of surrenders. His car was only a few minutes away but he had a feeling Peter would grow tired. The hand not only a warming point of contact but a way for Bucky to assess Peter’s exhaustion. 

“Come on, sugar. Car isn’t terribly far. Food and shower seem like priorities right about now so we’ll go somewhere quick. Any preferences?” Bucky wasn’t normally a talker, in fact, the amount he’d spoken in the last twenty minutes was more than he had willingly in the last four months. Something about the kid made him chatty, made him want to run his mouth just to see how Peter would react to every word. 

“Um, just something warm.” Peter squeezed Bucky’s hand for stability as they clambered over uneven ground. Peter had closed the knife and was holding it in his other hand, not quite relaxed but not strung tight. “I’ll really eat anything, it’s just cold and I think something warm would help.”

The word ‘cold’ pinged in Bucky’s mind as he realized that yes, it was. Things like that didn’t normally come up on his radar, weather was one of those things that just  _ was  _ so he was inclined to ignore it. He only ever considered it when he needed to dress appropriately to blend in. He slowed for a second and slipped his hand from Peter’s to remove his coat, handing it off to Peter. 

“Bucky, you don’t have to give me your coat. It’s cold and you’re already doing so much-”

“I’ll live, cold doesn’t bother me much and you need the insulation.”

Peter looked like he wanted to protest, and seemed about to. Bucky cut him off by taking the coat back briefly so he could drape it across the smaller’s shoulders. He picked Peter’s hand back up and went back to their march towards the car, charmed briefly by Peter’s childish huff as he followed Bucky’s lead. 

It didn’t take all that long. The car came into view, exactly where he left it. It was a painfully dull car, one of the various work vehicles the Family had on hand that he was given to use. The license plates were regularly swapped and all under false identities just in case it was ever linked to a scene. It was a perfectly serviceable car, which was why Bucky didn’t think about the challenge it might pose for Peter’s injured hip. 

Bucky unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for Peter, who stood there staring at it. He naturally read it as hesitation, Peter possibly reconsidering. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” Ready to catch him if he ran or lunged. 

“Yeah, um, I- I can’t crouch that far without… without my hip locking up and falling.” Clearly embarrassed to admit, refusing to look at Bucky. 

Relief. “Oh, doll, I’ll help you. Come ‘ere.” He gently maneuvered the smaller man so his back was against the open door frame. “Put your ‘ands on my shoulders and I’ll lower you down.” The ‘h’s disappearing in the softness of his accented voice. 

Peter complied, held on tight as Bucky bent his knees and braced Peter with an arm just below his rear and a hand on his lower back. Bucky had lifted and lowered enough bodies to know it needed to all be in the knees as he crouched to help Peter down. Nearly purring as those arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him as Peter was guided down into the seat.

“Thank you, Bucky.” Peter withdrew, not in fear but merely to situate himself, buckle in. 

“Anytime.” Shut the door carefully and moved around the other side, scanning the area for anything abnormal, anything he should worry himself with. Nothing but the empty night looked back at him. He dumped the trash in the bucket into the bin in front of his car where he’d found it and stuck it in the back seat as he climbed into the driver seat.

Peter had his hands folded in his lap. The knife still closed and now resting between his clamped thighs. Bucky wanted to reach over and feel the soft muscle giving under his hand, to pet at the pretty thing next to him. Instead, he jammed the key into the ignition and listened as it hummed to life. Pulled away into the night without looking back, for the first time bringing back a life where he should have left death and death alone. 


	2. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it seriously been a month since I updated this??? Sorry guys. I actually had this chapter finished a few days ago but I was saving it for a friend so she could read it first. Hope you enjoy!

The knife in his lap was heavy but the man next to him was sweet. Bucky passed him a burger and fries, adjusted as he drove one handed out of the drive thru. The heat radiated through the wrapper, piping hot in a way only mom and pop burger joints ever seemed to achieve. Drool was pooling in his mouth as he carefully unwrapped the palm sized gift. Bucky stopped the car in the parking lot briefly to situated his own burger, foot still on the break, suggesting that he planned to eat while they drove. 

Peter was nervous but hid it as his teeth sunk into the burger. The paper crinkled and the bun greased his lips shiny. Juice squeezed out the sides, bubbling but contained as the bread soaked it up. The beef was tender but still maintained enough body to pull its own weight. The sour spiked note of the pickle and the slightly sweet harmony of the ketchup had a sigh slipping past his lips. As he pulled away, strands of cheese followed, keeping him connected. Licking his lips, he wiped away the mess but immediately dove in for more. Eyes slipping shut, he hummed as his first warm meal in months settled like a soft ember in his stomach, warmed up from the inside out. In his blissed out state, the eyes watching him went unnoticed, their normal daggers softened by the scene, allowing them to slip by. 

The burger disappeared quickly, the rest of the meal quick to follow suit. As Peter leaned back he took a deep breath. Food had been too scarce for too long, his stomach pushed at his lungs from the volume of the meal. It ached but he’d take it over the familiar knaw of hunger. The car had started moving once more at some point in his meal. He watched as the city bled to suburbs then farmland. Didn’t take more than a half an hour on the freeway to reach rural stretches. Was strange to think about all those bodies jammed into the tent city when so much land lay just outside. 

The drive was quiet, the hum of the radio tuned to a 40s channel filled the cab. Peter rolled the closed knife between his palms, mindless and simply needing to fidget. Nearly jumped out of his skin when Bucky spoke.

“Almost home.”

“Oh,” The sound quiet and just before he turned to look at Bucky. 

Bucky was handsome, it was hard not to stare and Peter was certainly doing so. The short beard, the long hair peeking out from under his cap. Strong jaw and a frame so large he made Peter look like a child in comparison. A part of him wanted to reach out and touch him, assure himself that Bucky was real, that this wasn’t a cruel dream. 

“You okay there, sweetheart?” Bucky didn’t take his eyes off the road. 

Peter wished he could sink into the seat, snapped his head forward and pretended he hadn’t been blatantly looking up the man next to him. “Yeah… just making sure you aren’t gonna vanish into thin air.” Bit his tongue, hard. 

Bucky was silent. Peter jumped when a hand gently touched his elbow. “I’m not going anywhere, darling.”

Peter ignored the safety of that phrase, the way it pulled at his ribs. It was too intimate, too much of a promise from someone he’d just met. He wanted to trust Bucky so badly. Knew that this drive could well be his last. At some point though… why not just let it happen? He was dying. He could feel it. His body moments away from vanishing into dust. At least here, if Bucky killed him he would have a full belly. He would have lived the last hours of his life with some shreds of tenderness. Easier to die fighting than to roll over and let his body waste away.

Even with the knife, Bucky could still hurt him. The man was a mountain and Peter a finch. Still, the knife was a promise. An oath. Maybe Peter was naïve for buying into it but he’d lived his life on faith too long to jump ship now. 

They pulled up to a farmhouse. Startlingly rustic and was hard to put with Bucky’s city attire and accent. It was dark, but he could make out soft russet siding, a roof traditional of the housing style in brown. It was charming, didn’t read as a murder den but then he doubted most of them did. 

He was pulled from his thoughts as Bucky stepped out of the car. 

“Need help gettin’ out?” Bucky leaned in through the open door way of the driver’s side. 

“I think I can manage.” It was harder for him to lower himself with the way his hip had been injured, it locked at a fairly shallow angle and sitting was more often a semi controlled fall unless he was on his knees first and then turned. Standing on the other hand was easier. There were still hiccups, his joints would creak and pop in protest but he would make it. Did make it as he braced himself on the door frame once he’d swung it open. The sound of Bucky’s door closing behind him and the crunch of gravel suggested Bucky was coming around. 

It was a moment he was left completely open. The knife was resting in his pocket so he could stand and his slowed rise left him vulnerable. Yet, Bucky came around and leaned on the door frame next to him, letting him take the time he needed. Didn’t touch him or pressure him in any form, and fuck, if it wasn’t just another point in Bucky’s favor. Too many times others would ignore his need for some level of independence. The things he could do, no matter how hard, were important to him. He may have needed Bucky’s help sitting but Bucky refraining from forcing his assistance on Peter was more than most would give him. 

Bucky walked behind Peter as they started towards the house, a nearby field of mint spicing the air. The house loomed, tall and dark. It promised something, whether it was good or something which would spell his end was uncertain. He stuck his hands in his pockets, ran his left one over the handle of the folded blade, had to take the right side railing in order to keep holding on to the knife. Bucky rounded in front of him once they were on the porch, unlocked the door and flipped on the lights as he went in. The honey toned lights made the door just welcoming enough to encourage Peter through. 

The interior of Bucky’s home gave off an energy that could only be described as sturdy. Everything from the armchair to the coffee table was made of solid oak and dark twisted iron. It made each piece look capable, like the mountain that used them was no more a burden than a feather. The walls were covered in a cream colored wallpaper, their edges not quite laid correctly and overlapping. It was endearing, suggested that it had been done by an occupant rather than a professional, a personal touch. 

“The shower is down that hallway, second door on the left. I’ll bring you some fresh clothes just leave yours outside the door.” Bucky pointed to a hallway that ran off to the right towards the middle of the room, separated the living room and what appeared to be a small dining room. 

“Okay,” A hint of uncertainty leaking into his tone as he turned down the dark hall, almost jumped when the light turned on. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Bucky’s arm disappearing behind the wall, presumably having turned on the light for him. Peter caught himself smiling at the detail. 

The bathroom was painted a rich chocolate brown, it felt homely and warm and Peter honestly loved it. The clawfoot tub called his name, he could see himself spending a lazy fall night in it. Was quick to shunt that idea out of his head, reminded himself that this was temporary and only for the night. He was only supposed to shower, not dirty the white porcelain. He ignored the tub and went about figuring out the shower. The two knobs were unlabeled, worn away by time and use. It took nearly burning himself to figure out which was which. 

Peter stripped himself bare, stared at the ratty jeans and the band t-shirt so faded that the design was nothing more than a shadow. Most embarrassing was his underwear. Plain blue boxer briefs with holes ripped below the elastic, so stretched out that it barely stayed on his hips. There was a large stain on the front, an old blood patch from when a man had been beaten and Peter’s desperate attempts to help ended with him covered in blood and most of his clothes taken as evidence by the police. His outfit was pitiful, no wonder Bucky had suggested a shower. Between the clothes and the layer of grime he must have looked like an orphan child from a Charles Dickens novel.

Being naked in a stranger’s house was nothing short of strange, even for something as innocent as a shower. That was until the shower washed away everything but positive, floaty thoughts and feelings. The stall had glass that had been fogged in such a way that it almost looked like a wall of opalescent stones, all carefully pieces together until no gaps remained. The tile was a shade of pink so light that Peter wasn’t quite sure it wasn’t merely a trick of the light. He felt near boneless under the spray and started to wonder if this is what a shower in heaven would look like. The hot water seemed to pull all the impurities, physical or not, from his body. Ushered them down the drain as black, torrid ink. 

The knock on the door was unwelcome but expected. Bucky let himself in. Peter watched as a black shadow moved just behind the door. Like an evil spirit, a demon, just beyond the gates of heaven. Or an angel arriving home. 

“I got you a pair of shorts and a tshirt. The shorts are too small for me. They’ll still probably be a bit big for you but at least you won’t drown in these. Plus the shirt will cover anything the shorts don’t catch,” Bucky broke the silence, shuffling around. “I’ll-“ Bucky fell quiet, something in the air… shifted. 

“What were you saying?” Peter pulled himself under the spray, trying to ward off the chilling aura.

“Peter,” The way Bucky said his name, it was painfully gentle. “Why is there blood on your clothes?” A barely contained bite to the edge of the comment, still sharp but not cutting. 

Peter feared Bucky believed him to be harming others, didn’t know how to explain that body fluids, blood and urine especially, were common on the streets. “The big one on my underwear is from trying to help someone who was injured. It happened about a year ago.” Hoped that was enough, didn’t want to relive that moment.

It was as if the very house itself sighed. As quickly as the tension came it fled. Ran to opposite corners of the house and out windows, through walls. Peter didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath.

“That's fine then. I was worried you’d gotten hurt. I’ll get you some boxers.” 

“Oh you don’t have to-“ Bucky was already gone. Left Peter to shower a minute more before he returned and left the boxers without much fanfare. Once again Peter was left to his own devices. He finished off by scrubbing out his hair, used a small amount no bigger than a quarter of the shampoo and conditioner. Wondered if his curls would come in full force now that they weren’t weighed down by dirt and oil. 

He turned the water off and toweled down as best he could. He picked up the boxers, just a simple black pair that was certainly too big for him but the elastic had a shot of at least holding onto his bony hips. He’d worn other people’s clothes before but not their underwear. It was clearly clean, but some part of his brain kept pinging that detail. It was either this or going commando though and Peter was far more opposed to the latter. He put them on along with the shorts and shirt. The shorts reached down to his calves and needed to be tied up snug to stay on but they worked. The shirt was a plain black and fell just above his knees. It forced Peter once again to acknowledge the vast size difference between them. Peter was having a hard time believing just how  _ big  _ Bucky was. He could see it clearly with his own two eyes and it still didn’t seem like it was possible for someone to be as tall and densely muscled as Bucky. Bucky’s body wasn’t for show, it was built for strength. His muscles weren’t disproportionate and veiny like a body builder’s. Instead, he came off more as a wall, sturdy and capable.

His old clothes were gone, swept away and likely beyond salvaging. He hoped Bucky sent him off with something to cover up with tomorrow before taking him back to the city. He was about to leave the bathroom when he noticed the obsidian knife resting on the counter. Bucky had removed it from his pants and set it back out for him. Peter picked it up, amazed by the dedication to trying to make Peter feel safe. His only defense could have easily been swept away without him noticing or thinking about it until it was too late. He almost wanted to leave it behind, show Bucky he trusted hi-

A knock at the door. “Peter, I’m making hot cocoa, want some?” Slightly muffled by the slab of wood between them. 

Peter opened the door wide. Taken aback by the tender look Bucky gives him. Watched it fall back to something more neutral, friendly. Stuttered as he spoke. “I-uh yea-, sure.” God, he hoped he could sink into the floor. 

Bucky smiled, affection already having found a home in the looks he gave Peter. “Alright sweetheart, follow me and we’ll whip something up.”

Peter obeyed, the knife forgotten as he was drawn away by Bucky’s gentle demeanor. The kitchen Bucky took him to was new. All the appliances were up to date, cabinets still holding the sheen of new paint, new tile and countertops. It was modern compared to the usual set up for the style of house. A rack hung above an island that copper pots and pans hung from, chained to the ceiling by black iron hooks. The kitchen island was topped with wood, making it into a giant cutting board if one wished to use it that way. Two wooden stools were tucked under it. Bucky pulled one of them out for Peter to sit on as he went to the stove, a pot of steaming milk already resting there. There were two mugs set out filled with mix. One cup was bigger than the other, meant for hands much larger than Peter’s. Bucky poured the steaming milk into each, stuck a spoon in both and stirred. Just as Peter thought, Bucky took the larger mug. It looked normal in his hands, just another coffee mug. 

“Here you go, doll.” Bucky set the other one in front of him. 

“Thank you,” Peter took a sip, was surprised by how rich it was. Drank more, doing his best not to burn his mouth in the process. The whole cup gone in under a minute. 

Bucky chuckled, still nursing his own cup and pulling up the stool next to Peter. “Good?”

Peter let out a small gasp as he came up for air. Set the now empty cup on the island. “Really good. What brand was that?” 

Bucky hummed, sipped from his cup before answering. “I made the blend myself. Found most places didn’t make it the way I wanted it so I took matters into my own hands.”

“Wow, well you did a really good job. It was delicious.” 

He practically beamed. “Thank you, Peter.”

Peter nearly choked on his own spit, gave a few hardy coughs as Bucky reached over and thumped on his back. Felt dumb for it. Choked just because Bucky had said his name. 

“Don’t die on me now,” Teasing but concerned. “Like you alive a little too much for that.”

“I’m-” A round of coughs. “-okay.” He croaked out. 

“Mhm.” Bucky set his cup down and stood up. He took Peter’s mug to the sink, rinsed it, and filled it with water before handing it back to Peter. “Here.”

Peter took the water, sipped until the tingling passed and powered through the coughs that came in between. He was tired, didn’t know if it was the coughing or something else but he felt it now. Maybe it had been there for awhile, something he was just now noticing. 

“You look a bit tired.” 

He nodded, rubbed one eye and shook his head out like a dog, trying to ward off the sensation. 

“Why don’t we get you set up in the guest bedroom.” Bucky stood up. “Follow me.” Bucky abandoned his cup as he started walking. Peter slipped off the stool and followed behind. 

The rest of the house felt… cool. Like a house with it’s blinds closed on a hot summer day. It was an opposite comfort to the way a warm house felt. The crisp chill made him feel comfortable in his skin, like it wasn’t drawn tight by heat and anxiety. 

Bucky led him up the stairs, was patient as Peter took his time getting up. It didn’t hurt but it was something he needed to take his time on. Once at the top he was guided down the stretch of hall. It was only four doors. All were closed except the bathroom, which Bucky pointed out as they went. At the end of the hallway were two doors next to each other, the small line of wall between them indented and creating a sort of ‘Y’ look. Bucky pointed to the door on the left. 

“That one is my room,” He switched to the door on the right. “That one is yours.” Reached out and opened the door to reveal a room painted a mid-toned blue. Deep blue curtains covered the windows and that same coolness was present in this room. The bed was a full size, had a cozy looking quilt all laid out across it. The quilt was a deep maroon, contrasting the color theme of the room. There was a nightstand with a lamp and a dresser off next to the window. The walls had pictures of the ocean on them. Peter was sensing a theme. 

“If you need anything just come get me. If you can’t get out of bed for some reason knock on the wall. I’ll be able to hear you since the rooms share the one the bed is against.”

“Okay, thank you Bucky.” Peter looked at him, tried to convey just how important, how meaningful this was through his gaze and simple words. 

“Of course, Peter.” One of those massive hands reached out towards him and cupped his cheek gently. Peter nearly crumbled into pieces. “Anything you need, anytime. Just say the word.”

Peter refused to tear up, gave one firm nod before Bucky pulled away to let him lay down. He wanted to follow, didn’t want Bucky to go but stayed where he was. Watched as Bucky disappeared, closing the door with a  _ click! _

He crawled into bed without much fanfare. Curled up under the covers and sighed as the long forgotten feeling of clean sheets slid across his skin, drawing him down into the lazy waves of sleep. Dreamed of grey eyes and trust and warm chocolate and longing. Got to experience more of those precious human comforts. 

In the end, it was nothing more than a precursory apology for what was to come as Peter woke up in a sea of his own unending vomit. 

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is https://ceratonia-siliqua.tumblr.com if you'd like to follow me there for more! Some things get posted on there that don't make it to my AO3 so feel free to check out my writing tag for more debauchery.


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